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Nov. 12th, 2011


(no subject)

The good thing about the land mule needing an oil change was that it gave Chase a solid reason to be under it, and completely out of sight. The bad thing was that he wasnt actually changing the oil, and that his four graveyard shifts in a row were catching up to him. He hadn't meant to nap under there, it had just kind of happened; on his back, in the dark and all alone in the cargo bay with the mule up on blocks. He'd just shut his eyes for a second, so when he woke up to the sound of one of the ship's primary circulators dying loudly, he was seriously disoriented-- and, you know, in excruciating pain from smashing his forehead into the mule's underside.

"Fffffffff--" Chase recoiled and pushed himself out from under the mule, now in total darkness; whatever had died had taken the overheads with it. He flipped on the LED on his goggles and fumbled toward the control room on the second floor, clutching his poor, definitely bruised forehead. Inside, Connor and a handful of the guys were crowded around a wall full of open panels, talking over each other and sending flashlight beams strobing across the room as they gestured.

"The primary ventilation buffer backfired--"
"Well, we gotta get people out of the rooms!"
"Is there an actual fire somewhere, or is it just overheated?!"
"Who's getting the captains?"

"I'm on it," he said, and doubled back out and up the stairs to the main level at a run. Ten minutes later, he and the captains (both wearing legit shirt-and-pants PAJAMAS, to Chase's fascination and vicarious shame) were knocking on doors and encouraging those who were decent to run ahead and get the passengers out in the distant wing. People were getting hauled straight out of bed and pulled from their rooms like there was a fire under their collective asses, because, Chase figured, Connor worried there might be somewhere in the ducts.

"Get everyone out of the rooms, ok? We don't know for sure what's causing the backup but we know it's fucking up the vents-- get everyone out of this side then get the passengers, don't miss any rooms! We're all meeting down in the loading bay so get down there asap!"

( It's 3 am and your character has been hauled from whatever they were doing-- probably sleeping-- because there's serious issues with the Argo's ventilation system and god knows what else. They'll have to run out of their room without a chance to grab much of anything and either wake up crew/passengers en route or just head straight down to the loading bay. Have fuuuuun! )

Mar. 29th, 2011

ready to ride


on babylon

Lapin's moons were mostly small, even more rural than the planet itself, and Babylon was as dusty and homely as you'd expect a moon of that description to be. It had been a while since Lee'd been there, and he found it hadn't changed a bit. Things didn't often change in a place like this, at least not the look of 'em. This was a strange town they were heading to, though, and no matter how bad they needed more supplies, it wasn't worth putting the ship in danger to get 'em, even if it might only be danger from some local hoodlums on horseback.

Or so he'd said to the captains, anyway, who'd agreed with him wholeheartedly that trekking to the town on foot was the best idea. "No shuttle," he'd advised. "Too easily tracked. If we had horses..." he'd trailed off, sharing a shrug with the young men. He guessed they were all in the mood for a ride, but as generous as the pay was, horses were the one thing none of them could ever seem to rationalize the cost and risk of having on board.

Riding was out, the shuttle was out, so here they were, a group of people bent on a grocery store, walking a handful of miles through the countryside to get there. Lee had ended up at the front with Connor, who didn't seem thrilled by the idea of the walk, but was focused enough on the prospect of food that he kept quiet about it (unlike some in the group, who clearly hadn't had a good idea of what walking seven miles would entail when they'd agreed to come along). They both had radios in their ears, as did the captains, linked to each other and back to Gert on the ship. Lee clicked his on and said, "Hey, Gert. You'll tell us if it starts to look like rain?" Connor shot him a look that was even more disgruntled, and Lee couldn't help a laugh. "Just kidding," he said to the mechanic. "Besides, there's woods between us and town. Even if it does rain, there'll be cover."

"Very funny," Connor retorted, and Lee grinned. Behind him, he could hear Kara talking, Cuthbert's voice rising over hers in tones of protest, Jayne sniggering. Say what you would about a seven-mile walk, but out in the fresh air under the sun, Lee could think of worse ways to spend a day.

[what may appear to be nothing more than an innocuous walking party is not always as it seems. fear not, plot ahead! your pup can either be in the walking group, or hanging back at the ship with gert and company. either way, they'll have something to do when the time comes. for now, tag away!

ftr : the walking group is currently made up of bert, alain, lee, connor, kara and jayne, with room for a handful more. complainers wanted. XD]

Feb. 2nd, 2011


OOC. words that rhyme w/ 'frak'.


Yes, my friends. It's a dreary, dreary week in February, full of grey days and financial anxiety and sunlight deprivation and shoveling and not enough hours to go around for your to-do lists.

What you MUST DO is tag around for this most excellent crack plot that I have devised for you. This will be around until people tire of tagging it; I don't care if we tag for a week, then drop it, then pick it up again in March. Whatever. The crack is here for you when you need it the most.

Here's the deal: LIKE YOU ALL SUSPECTED, Chase went to the same high school as the Glee kids. Karolina was in a neighboring school at the same city. The Pride has contacted Chase's ex-girlfriend, Santana Lopez, in an effort to lure Chase (along with his wayward cousin and daughter-of-The-Pride, Karo) back to Pride contacts, where they'll probably try to brainwash whatever there is to wash. Brittany is of course along for the ride, assisting Santana in her nefarious deeds (they were promised serious benjamins for their unorthodox internship).

In order to create confusion and mass bedlam, the girls have tainted the Argo's water supply with the very same William McKinley High School toxin that turns everyone in fantastic singers and dancers, ready to express themselves at any given moment with a musical number (lights, smoke machines, back-up singers, dancers and accompanying musicians all included). People won't be able to help it. Over the course of the next few weeks that Santana and Brittany are on board, your characters will find themselves compelled to sing out their hopes and fears, to bust out at the breakfast table,perform arias on the bridge, and yes, my friends, to get jiggy in the engine room.

So write a tag. Include all or some of the lyrics, describe what they're doing, write us the 'literal' part of the music video. Go fucking CRAZY. You're in Crack Town, population ALL OF US. If you want to plan duets, plan duets. If you want to plan NEWSIES-STYLE GROUP SCENES, PLAN THEM. WITH ME.

-- Extra points for using music that probably wouldn't necessarily be on your iPod, or your character's, either. Glee uses a lot of contemporary hits and the songs they sing don't necessarily extrapolate on the SUBTLETIES of the characters singing them. So think classic rock and pop, mostly Top 40s from the last 40 years. :D ~~I SAID I WASN'T GONNA LOSE MY HEAD BUT THEN !POP! GOES MY HEART~~~~

One tip-- characters should all act like this is TOTES NORMAL. When someone asks WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO, GOT TO DO WITH IT? the other character's correct response is: IDEK IT'S JUST SOME SECONDHAND EMOTION! No funny looks about the singing. SOLOS ARE ALLOWED, your character can vent their soul in the privacy of their own room if you want. Just try to utilize typical musical and of course, Glee rules as far as the 4th wall is concerned.




(no subject)

There was no way Brittany could have ever pulled this off if she'd been on her own.

Number one, her parents set a curfew of eleven o' clock. It didn't matter that they were basically always away on business trips because they always left the cat at home, and that cat already knew way too much of her business.

B, she had only ever been in Space once, and that was Space Mountain, and it was like for ten minutes.

And three, Santana was like the Shaggy to her Scooby, the Rocky to her Bullwinkle, the Portia DeRossi to her Ellen. She seriously didn't know what she would do without Santana.

What Brittany wasn't considering was that she never would have even been involved in this mess if it weren't for Santana Lopez.

But she was trying to be cool. Act smooth. She and Tana were pretending to have run into Chase Stein and Karolina Dean by accident, like oh whoops, what a small universe, we went to high school together and now we're on your spaceship slipping you roofies! Except she obvi couldn't come out and say the last part.

But sometimes she had a hard time with not saying stuff. When she and Puck had fooled around a long time ago, she remembered him saying that sometimes guys got erections for no real reason at all and they couldn't help it. Sometimes, Brittany thought of something and it was like having a mental boner. It just popped out.

So she'd thrown herself into planning this party hoping she'd be too busy to talk. The plan was to create total chaos by putting little ground-up pills into the punch. They weren't exactly roofies, more like those vitamins they'd taken during the mash-up competition, times a zillion. But even if it wasn't actually roofies, it was still just like a McKinley High Valentine's Day dance anyway. Brittany had done most of the decorations herself, with the help of a really nice lady named Effie. She'd put up disco balls and sparkly lights and crepe paper and a big banner and paper hearts and cupids and cut-outs of sexy ladies. It was in a huge ballroom with a stage at one end, almost as big as the stage of their auditorium at home, but Rachel wasn't on this one.

The music was going to be so totally sweet, and she'd even used her lady charms to get one of the cute hobos on the ship to help her hook up the karaoke with a microphone and huge amplifiers and speakers.

But just to make sure she didn't mess up-- mostly because she didn't want to disappoint Santana-- she put a booth at the door and made sure everyone did a shot before they entered.

So there she sat, smiling up at people as they arrived, her ponytail bobbing to the sweet beats of Britney's Toxic all the way up to 11.

[ Put your characters in for before-the-mayhem top levels, talking & dancing, whatever. After we've gotten bored with that, you can assume the drugs will kick in, and you can write a new top level for each and every song they are compelled to perform. And they will be compelled. The drugs give everyone an amazing range, dance abilities, the proper theatrical razzle-dazzle and, of course, an insatiable urge to express themselves through song. GO TO. Enjoy your snowy February crack, my friends. ]

Jan. 22nd, 2011

opening up



"Jake," a voice said softly. He stirred, stiff from hunching, and blinked up at the source of the sound. All at once, it came back to him-- the cold air numbing his face and hands, the smell of the horses and the wool poncho Bert had swaddled him in, the sound of the snow beneath them. Somehow, he'd managed to fall asleep on horseback, strapped against the saddle with his head resting against Bert's back. He must've been zonked.

"Yeah," he answered, trying not to sound groggy. "How's everything?" Meaning: how's the mission, have we found the temple yet, did we get un-lost? He had no idea how long he'd been sleeping. Probably not long, but when he'd dosed off, the woods were dim and pink lit. Now, they were traveling in a bright, wavering ring of torchlight, leaving everything beyond ten yards or so completely pitch.

"Good," Bert answered. He reached back and pressed a biscuit into Jake's hand. "Eat that, all right? Can't stop for dinner." To Jake, he looked uncharacteristically worried, even a little annoyed, an observation which was supported by the constant, growly group mindchatter he couldn't help but hear.

"No problem." Jake ate the biscuit. It was cold, and hard enough to knock someone out, but it was still buttery-tasting, and nice and crumbly inside. Anyway, he was starving. Behind him, he could hear Chase trying out the radio.

Tzzzzttttt. Tzr. Tzr. Tzzzzzzt. "H- Hello? Come in-"

"Chase?" Bert whipped around, eyes wide. "I think we've determined we're out of range."

"We might as well keep trying! Look, it's pretty obvious to everyone here that you guys have no clue where you're taking us." Chase's horse cantered forward without warning, and he tugged hard on the reins, looking frustrated. "I know riding around in the forest is your thing but the rest of us are fucking beat, man."

Jake looked silently to Bert, who simply turned around and gigged the horse, bringing them neck-and-neck with Sandor.

"The natives are getting restless," Bert muttered to Sandor, who looked to Bert, then to Jake, who looked quickly away. "How much farther before we consider the possibility of stopping for the night? Maybe taking a look at things in the morning?"

[ The Argonauts are split into three groups-- feel free to place yours in whichever you think makes the most sense. Group 1 got split off first and has already found the temple. However, radios are down and so they can't communicate with Group 2. Group 2 is here, led by Bert and Sandor. Group 3 is anyone back at the ship, who will obviously only be able to interact with each other and via radio. The radio's out for now but we can always bring it back later for folks like Roslin, Gert and Gaeta!

Lupon's the medieval planet where guns are outlawed. No one has a gun. You can choose your character's alternate weapon but remember they've only had a few days to get comfortable with it. As for the landscape, think very cold, very snowy, very wooded, with large plains occasionally breaking it up. Mountains approaching in the distance. Everyone's on horseback, and Jake is doubled up with Bert.

They're looking for the temple, which is an enormous castle carved into the side of a mountain. The countryside is known to be dangerous, and at the moment, they have fears of anything from wild animals to ~~magic wood spirits~~ to helicopters from the planet's capital trying to track them down.

Use the journal wayofthebeam to play out any adversaries you want. Either do a top level and take turns threading w/ the group, or tag someone specifically to attack/interact with them as an individual.

...annnnd go? 8D ]

Jan. 18th, 2011

cuthbert fanart / awnen @ deviantart



You know the drill. Use Photoshop or whatever the hell you've got to make some cryptic postcards for your characters. Be as serious or silly as you want.

Guessing the identity of the maker is allowed, of course, but no one's under any obligation to divulge a damn thing!

Have fuuuuun. 8D

Dec. 28th, 2010

cuthbert fanart / awnen @ deviantart


(no subject)

Bert thought-- privately of course, so as not to incite a cacophony of defensive opinions-- that they could travel the 'Verse and not find a finer place to be stuck for the holidays.

Sure, where they were happened to be the be the main reason why they were stuck, but even if Lapin happened to be a bit slow where ship parts and logistics were concerned, they had no reason to worry about time. And if there was ever a good opportunity for them to all slow down and take a break from the regular anxieties of ship life, it was surely the last few weeks of December.

The village they'd found themselves in was a painfully charming place built on a river, all sturdy stone bridges and snow-heavy thatched roofs. Old statues of saints and their various patron animals stood guard, shop signs swung in the near-constant wind with crazy abandon, and warm yellow lantern light pooled in grids on the snowbanks outside of shop and tavern windows. For the most part, the crew came and went as they pleased, keeping the cargo bay shut up tight and instead using the formal passenger entrance to come and go, frequenting shops, taverns and even exploring the pretty countryside for a few hours before it was back to the claustrophobic comfort of their bunks.

Christmas had come and gone, and with it, Bert's final, clinging hang-ups about the unimaginable and horrifically creative ways that these people found to waste paper. Almost. He'd saved a few of the prettiest (and what he gauged, dearest) sheets despite various accusations of insanity and was now sitting before a fire just outside the ship, bundled in a warm, worn tweedy duster, a scarf and fingerless gloves, folding it into paper birds while the rest of the crew socialized by the bonfire, heading back from the tavern or just waking up to head over to it, depending.

There was a light, decorative sort of snow falling and the wind had died down, though not yet enough to make the pint of rum they were passing around to no avail. It was, in short, a perfect night, and one of the year's last.

Apr. 1st, 2010


Fool you once, shame on me...

Come and get it, if you're not too scared.

I'm gonna wing it for pups Sirius doesn't know from real life.

Mar. 4th, 2010



(no subject)

One of the things that the crew had come to realize about living on a spaceship was that when you set down anywhere long enough to plant your boots in the dirt, you had to seize the day, or risk regretting it for a few long weeks in the black. Even if a planet didn't particularly have much to recommend it, well, that was okay - you'd make your own good time if you had to.

Tonight was one of those nights. The Argo, along with its crew and passengers, had set down on a planet that didn't have too much to it, aside from a few towns that were halfway on their way to becoming ghosts. There wasn't any nightlife to be found, maybe, but that wasn't going to stop them from enjoying a little fresh air. As the sun set on a dusty horizon, they lowered the loading bay ramp, set up their torches and what electric lights could stretch from the generator, hauled out ice and drinks and what food they could coax out of the kitchen, and fired up the ship's speakers for what was most certainly not official use.

A few curious locals came around to see what the commotion was all about; those who came near enough to be noticed were offered a 'beer', invited to stay for a spell. If past experience was anything to judge by, it looked as thought they all had a long, sorely needed night of planetside R&R ahead of them.

May. 13th, 2009


the pain and the itch

The ship was not a spacious place at the best of times.  They all could agree on that, surely.  So it didn't make a lick of sense to Connor to bring pets -underfoot, smelly, dirty, ravenous for bedding- aboard in the first place, but he wasn't  about to say anything remotely like that just at present.  Not when they were all stuck in the sick bay until the air cleared of the toxic fumes released by the bug bombs.  The bug bombs which had to be set off because there were fleas.  The responsible party was beyond reproach, since it was a cold blooded lower life form, being firmly defended by its idiot owner.  All around, pace-fleas were altogether nastier and harder to get rid of than your garden variety pest.  The chemical showers had been fun to get the crew clear, and Connor doubted if any of their hair would return to the right colour, no mater how many times they lathered, rinsed, or repeated. 

"Your turn there, fella."  He said to the player on his right.  They had gathered stools around one of the beds, since all the tables were full of "sensitive equipment"  and odds and ends that certain members of the crew ideally wouldn't have been around.  Others were reading, sulking against walls, and just generally killing time however they thought would get it deadest.

Feb. 2nd, 2009

intergalactic diner


(no subject)

Most of the time, when the ship docked at a space station, it was for some entirely unexciting reason: refueling, general repairs, or something equally banal. Most of the crew didn't bother to get off the ship, not unless they had a letter to send or some basic supply to stock up on. The general philosophy was dock, get your business done, and get out of there as fast as you could. Today, though; today's stop was different.

This particular station was not so much for refueling ships as it was for energizing the bodies, minds, and spirits of the ship's crew. Popular enough to be a destination in its own right, the station held shops, restaurants, amusements, curiosities, games, rides, theaters, shows, zoos, spas.... any kind of recreation you could imagine, it was there. The crew had prepared to dock for a few days and make the most of them.

Jan. 26th, 2009

naturally looking sexy


(no subject)

Hyacinthe liked the machine room of the ship he was currently jumping. It was bigger than some of the other ships he'd been on; it gave him plenty of room to hide. Of course, he hadn't seen anyone yet despite the somewhat odd sound coming from one of the engines. It was getting to the point where he was almost tempted to fix it himself, since it was keeping him up at night.

Hyacinthe had snuck onto the currently unnamed ship two days before. He had been running from a government officer on Barrus, who apparently hadn't enjoyed having to give over all his money to the dark featured young man. He apparently hadn't enjoyed finding out about the loaded dice either. Hyacinthe had never exactly denied the use of his favorite pair of dice, but then really the man had never exactly asked either. He'd booked it through the streets as if he knew the place like the back of his hand, darting down alleys and climbing over walls with ease. Good skills for a man who'd never spent more than a week planet side.

Still, he hadn't been quite good enough for the apparently tenacious policeman, who'd caught up with him in a docking station somewhere on the southside of the planet. Hyacinthe had begun to sweat then, running out of places to hide and very much unable to go to jail. He did have several bounties on his head, for one. It was right at the point where Hyacinthe really began to consider giving up when he saw it - the open hatch to a ship. Supplies were scattered in boxes around it, but the people who were supposed to be loading it were apparently gone. He knew opportunity when he saw one, and hid just on the inside until the guard past.

Hyacinthe knew that Barrus officers didn't take lightly to being swindled, so staying on board the ship was his best, if not only, option. He figured he'd simply sneak off the next time they stopped at a planet. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. In fact, being of gypsy blood, he was good at hiding from the authorities. Ship captains tended not to like gypsies, who had a bad (and false) reputation for being thieves and murderers. He figured that sneaking aboard wouldn't go over well, so held up to the machine room he was.

Currently he was finishing up a nap, stretching along the cloak he'd layed down for his makeshift bed. His eyes blinked open, then widened as he picked up the distinct sound of voices. Someone was coming into the room, and they were coming a lot sooner than Hyacinthe expected. He was on his feet in a flash, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He slipped the cloak on as well, but the voices were coming too fast. He didn't have anywhere to hide. The nearest hole was almost 50 feet from him, not near close enough to make a run for. He looked around frantically, and then he saw it. A low hanging pipe was right above him. Without a second's thought he jumped up, grabbing onto the pipe and hauling himself up a respectable distance where he could potentially hide.

Well, this is a bit crass, he thought to himself as he dangled precariously from the pipe, but it's better than nothing.

Dec. 25th, 2008


(no subject)

Connor was twenty feet above the main deck, clinging to a ladder.  He didn't like to spend this much time clinging to the main reactor coil, but at least he was no longer alone in the work.  The new crew had taken a lot of the pressure off Connor when it came to every day maintenance, but there had been a few...events...in the engine's function in the past few days. 

And why not?  The thing's practically a time bomb, and that's on a good day.

Connor shouted down to his ground support. 

"Oi, ah, Miss Yorkes?  Any news from the cortex yet?"

Dec. 23rd, 2008



(no subject)

On Picon, Almost 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea...Collapse )

Dec. 20th, 2008



(no subject)

Bert leaned against the bars, legs stretched out in front of him while he watched the shadows slant in the corridor, marking the time until they slid entirely into shadow. It had been nearly fourteen hours since they'd been jailed here, six of them in a cell not much larger than a watercloset. It was dark but for the windows set high into the stone wall in the hallway and the guttering torches lining it, and silent except for the complaining of the crew. Which meant, of course, that it was nothing approaching silent.

There was another noise, actually; that of the absurd bear who was trundling on two feet down the corridor once every two hours. He didn't look like any bear Bert had ever seen, though. Aside from the fact that, again, it walked like a man and wore a tunic and trousers under its armor, its eyes were a little too large, its mouth too human. Furthermore, it had taken to sleeping in a chair perhaps ten feet away from the cell, snoring loudly with the key ring dangling invitingly off its belt.

He hadn't seen the fellow since he'd left an hour ago, but Bert was hopeful that the jibes he'd been thinking up might be enough to finally incite the thing to speaking, if it could. Starting up a dialogue with it might get them out, and if nothing else, it would stop it from that gods-awful snoring.

Bert gave a huge stretch, his knuckles scraping the rough stone behind him as lifted his arms. His foot knocked one of the tin plates across the floor, sending the "cookies-with-bugs-in", as the little girl had called them, scattering.

"There goes dinner," Bert said dryly, knowing that no one- except possibly Jayne, if this went on much longer- would've touched them anyway.

Dec. 18th, 2008



(no subject)

She was limping along the counters a little, but everything seemed to be moving and bending the right way. Jes looked over her shoulder and through the pass-through to the dining room, where people were starting to gather around the paltry, rag-tag little tree that Jayne had brought Jake to get when they scrambled aboard the space station seventeen clicks outside Lupon’s orbit, at the boy’s insistence—what was Christmas without a Christmas Tree? the boy had asked, in a voice that could melt the toughest of hearts. Who could resist that boy, Jes wondered, knowing that she herself could not.

Though Karolina insisted that she sit, she directed as her two aides, more useful now than ever that she’d been injured (nothing bad, just a deep cut really, and it hurt like a frakking bitch, it did) in chopping what needed to be chopped of the fresh food the space station party had smuggled aboard. They’d paid through the nose, but she didn’t care. She’d have paid for it herself, out of her own wages, if it meant she could cook a proper Year’s End feast for her crew.

She kept a hand on the counter as she stirred the deep stock pot being used now for one of her favorites, one she’d learned from her aunt on Lupon. When it was finished she ladled the buttered rum into a soup tureen (of sorts) and brought it out into the dining room.

Setting it down in the center of the table (there was more than plenty to go around), Jes stood back and smiled at the food and the company. A happy Year’s End this year, she thought.

Nov. 30th, 2008

the balloon man


On Picon : Takin' in the Scenery

Couldn'a asked for a nicer afternoon to dry-dock on Picon and set up shop lookin' for new customers, and that was a fact Lee Scoresby would've sworn to on a stack of Bibles. Clear sky, puffy clouds that looked like cotton candy, and a curbside mariachi band set up down the block-- close enough that the strains of banjo and violin made it to their ears, but far enough you didn't want to huck a maraca at their heads after ten minutes.

Miss Jesminder had set up a lawn chair with a little table and a pitcher of iced tea, and a few of the crew had come out to join her. Master Stockworth was perched on an upturned crate on the opposite edge of the loading ramp, and Mr. Cobb lurked behind them at the mouth of the cargo bay-- Lee could tell by the scent of cigar smoke that occasionally puckered underneath his nose. They were all lookin' various degrees of casual, but there was no mistakin' they were open for business, same as those mariachi fellas with their fiddle cases open by their feet.

The sound of boots was heard from deep in the cargo bay, and they turned to see Master Heath coming out, a chair under one arm, a large painted board under the other. "There, that does it," he said with satisfaction, propping the board against the chair. Curiosity got the better of him, and Scoresby unfolded his long limbs and got to his feet, going round to see what he was advertising. Now Hiring, the sign proclaimed, Seeking Passengers. Inquire for Both Inside. "Yeah, that does it," Lee replied, grinning as he sat back down, propping one foot up on the rung of his chair. There was more'n one way to skin a prairie dog, and while Lee usually went for less direct ones, he wasn't gonna argue if it got people in their bunks and money in their wallets.

Now all they needed was for someone to show up.

May. 13th, 2008

you can dance if you wanna


practice makes perfect - Lupon

To say that Alain felt naked without a gun was not quite right. The boys had been through scrapes without them many a time before, but it did make him remember his training, not even rightly an apprenticeship, for you did not even hold that title before you won your guns. And that of course, meant trying the line with Cort. That, Alain reflected, he and Bert had been lucky on. They'd all but won their guns in Mejis. Trying the line was a formality, but one they still had to pass with no allowances for their worldly adventures. He snorted. Worldly adventures? That deserves a laugh.

But Cort had taught them well. They knew enough to stay alive and do their duty to the White and that's more than most men, let alone boys could say. You may not aim with your hands maggots, but you will learn how to use 'em.

Alain shook himself out of his memory and looked toward Cuthbert. "Prepared Sai? Or do you not remember how this goes?" His tone was polite, but he was grinning all the same. Lupon would make boys of them, and then men of them all over again.

Mar. 6th, 2008



Lee Scoresby's Interview

    Bert sat slumped in his chair, elbow propped on the table, his face smushed into his palm. Beside him, Alain was scribbling carefully. They'd been at interviews since the crack of dawn- apparently, it was commonplace for folk to pursue employment with a ferocity that would have been unheard of in Gilead. After they'd placed posters up with their location at the Inn, they'd had people of every imaginable shape and personality knocking at their door with little concern for the hours posted on the sign. After holding palaver and questioning dozens of crew members over a desk in a mostly bare room, the boys were beginning to get extremely frustrated with their situation. In addition to selecting strangers for what was shaping up to the be the most important thing they'd ever done by leagues, the boys had to masquerade their own identities and background. It was a strange dance, not unlike their game of Castles in Mejis but more like an awkward comic sketch, complete with lots of retractions, spur-of-the-moment story innovations, and incredibly nervous laughter.

     Fortunately, most of the folk here seemed less interested in the story of their life and more interested in the contents of their credit accounts and what portion of it they could expect to see on a weekly basis (only the boys knew the bulk of their 'credit accounts' sat in deerskin pouches hanging from their belts). They weren't doing badly, either- between Bert's quick perception and social graces, and what Bert thought of as Alain's real talent-- getting people to blather with nothing more than a smile and a nod in the right place (though he suspected the Touch got a bit of a workout as well)-- they were sorting through the potentials handily enough.

    But it was taking all afternoon, and it was hungry work. The serving-girl stepped in with two plates of "curry" (devoured in roughly three minutes) and two beers, which "Richard" sent back to the kitchen with polite refusal while "Arthur" flapped his jaw in silent, desperate protest.

    "We need all of our wits about us, now, Art- not at the bottom of a glass."

    "I know," Arthur said. "But I feel there's a gap between us now, irreparable, a sad and lonely gap that might only be bridged by a beer on your coin after this day is over."

    Richard laughed. "Fair enough, sir. Listen-- someone's at the door."

    They both looked up, readying themselves for the next applicant.

Feb. 21st, 2008



The Argonauts and the Missing Glasses.

Bert is having a fitful dream. In it, Roland struggles against the roaring, sand-spiked wind of an endless desert. He has no food, no water, and he cannot last much longer. Dream-Bert knows something else: Roland is being pursued, by a misshapen black thing that might be a man, might be a spider. It's catching up. In his dream, the half-crippled thing moves with a frightening speed, and Bert can hear it making a strange noise in its throat, a noise- -

 He wakes up, sweating. Hanging over the bunk, he sees Alain with a matching expression, looking back up at him.

 Loudly, on the comm speakers, they hear a man clear his throat.

 "What is that?" Alain says, his eyes thin slits in the pale blue light of the cortex, the screen-saver fading in and out.

A voice comes through, booming, too jovial. "Hile, gunslingers! Don't be strangers!"

He doesn't waste any time, stands and grabs his guns. Bert jumps down, takes the heavy revolvers from the gunna hanging off the side of the bunk, and follows Alain up the ladder, their bare feet not making a sound.

From the speakers, a shuffling sound, then a click. There's music. The man is half-singing along, half-speaking, obviously enjoying himself, putting on a show. "Please allow me to introduce myself; I'm a man of wealth and taste..."

Bert and Alain ran through the corridor, hearing the sounds of people waking up, hatches opening. When they get to the central room, with the enormous screen of the main cortex, they see the face of a man. His ruddy face is stretched by a big smile. He looks... well, ageless. He might be 23, maybe he's 35. Could be a well-kept 62. A shock of reddish-blond hair is swept back from his freckled forehead. His expression reads: Hey boys! There you are! But he's still singing.

"Been around for a long, long year; stole many a man's soul and faith...
yeah! Love it!"

Alain hears the rest coming. He shuts and locks the door instinctively, not knowing what's ahead, just knowing they don't need a mutiny.

Bert is leaning toward the screen, looking livid. His voice is casual, which is not to say friendly. "Who the hell are you?"

The mysterious figure laughs, almost sadly, as if at the impertinence of youth.

"I've got many names. When I-

"Spare us the bullshit." The boys speak in tandem, and only spare a minute to exchange an amused glance.

Feb. 7th, 2008



(no subject)

There was something to be said about sitting down to dinner with your crew after a day spent underneath a mule helping dismantle and reassemble its insides. Kara had recently come from washing what felt like a gallon of engine oil off herself, and started to wander in the direction of the kitchen when her stomach grumbled at her.

She paused on the observation bridge, lighting up a smoke and leaning her forearms on the railing while she watched the stars shoot by over the cut glass of the Argo's dome. It was a beautiful ship, she'd give it that, though she was hardly done missing the Galactica yet. That still smarted to think about; months she'd been gone, and still nothing to show for it. Next time she was feeling courageous she vowed she'd send Roslin a wave and come clean about her lack of progress on the "find the prophets, save the world" front.

But since she didn't happen to be feeling courageous so much as hungry just then, Kara turned and continued on toward the kitchen. She heard sounds as she approached, and smiled; it sounded like she wasn't the only one with an empty stomach.